Chapter 14
Thatcher
More gym time. The days had been utterly full of it, and as much as I loved pitting myself against new opponents, I hated how it kept me away from Ysa—just as I’d decided that things might be possible between us after all, too.
It was on purpose: my schedule, filled each morning by the Sineater with a mean grin on his gray face, was designed to keep me away from her so I couldn’t get into further trouble.
They knew as well as I did that even with the entity finally defeated, I still wouldn’t stop following Ysa around the ship. I’d never stop.
So they kept me busy. Even nano-enhanced, I was often so tired at night that I had no choice but to return to my bunk for a few hours.
My muscles needed to recover, but my brain struggled to shut off.
All I could think about was whether Ysa was safe, whether she thought about me, our kiss.
The words she’d said to me in the hallway after I’d slain her enemy.
Words that had made me feel like she did not mind my obsessive behavior so much.
That she thought perhaps my offer of protection was good enough.
Shaking Ysa from my head was all but impossible, but I’d been in top form anyway.
The added processor allowed me to stay alert even as my thoughts had fixated on the wrong thing.
Not that thinking of Ysa could ever be wrong.
Today, it saved me three times from a blow to the face that could have knocked out a lesser man.
I was sparring with the Kertinal from the Vagabond.
The engineer that Ysa looked up to so much—though she’d never admit that out loud.
This guy packed a very mean punch and, as an added danger, had a tail with a knife at the tip to watch for.
He was proving the captain’s point rather well, that gladiators did not fight the same as soldiers.
This Da’vi had almost managed to get under my guard several times over.
Not only was he Kertinal, and thus had a military background, he’d spent years on the sands as a prime fighter.
Gladiator games were probably one of the most watched types of feed on the ship.
I’d researched him, and the others, by watching footage of their matches, and still it was different in reality.
Perhaps because they’d only continued to hone their skills these past two years of freedom.
“Careful there, my friend,” the Kertinal drawled in what was anything but a friendly tone.
He had metal covering both his hands, not quite complete replacements like my left foot, but shells that protected damaged skin and enhanced his strength.
He’d tapped me a few times with those metal hands, and it had definitely stung.
Now he’d managed a kick to my knee that would have downed me, except it was the metal one, and it was just a tad sturdier than he clearly expected.
“Don’t let thoughts of your pretty engineer distract you. ”
I snarled because he was the first to dare taunt me, and he chose to do so with Ysa.
His gladiator brothers, so far, had mostly been silent as we’d practiced, day in, day out.
Fighting the shapeshifter had been interesting, and nearly impossible, so they were pitting him against the Sineater right now.
Most interesting was going to be when our second in command took the mat to fight the metallurgist Terafin male.
Supposedly, he had similar abilities to the Sineater, and bets were already being made.
It was supposed to be friendly competition, but there was a festive, sort of eager spirit filling the ship because of it.
If only I wasn’t so worried about Ysa, I might actually let it fill me too, enjoy the moment, place a few bets myself.
It reminded me of my time as a soldier before the Shadow Unit, and those were good memories, mostly.
“You watch it,” I warned him. “Say her name, and I’ll break your fucking mouth.
” He just laughed, a deep, rumbling noise that made others look up and begin to circle around us to watch.
Our bout was becoming interesting—blows traded rapidly—my expression probably too intense, too angry for just a practice match.
Da’vi seemed to know that, but he did not call off the fight, not even when he was forced to defend.
From the corner of my eye, I saw both captains come to the edge of the mat.
Asmoded was going to put an end to this fight that had begun to stop being about training and had become an outlet for my anger instead.
I was being kept away from Ysa on purpose, and if this lasted much longer, I’d stop responding to orders.
Next to the captain, Ziame, also known as the Beast, was carefully watching, too.
I had a feeling he might jump in himself if he thought I took it too far.
The thought sent a thrill through me, and my next strike was definitely too hard.
I saw Da’vi’s eyes widen, a flash of bioluminescence on his skin, but he waved off his captain.
Too bad, I relished the idea of pitting myself against the Beast. All green scales, eight feet tall, with horns like a bull.
He had quills along his spine, head, and tail too, and I was pretty sure he breathed fire, to boot.
That guy would mess me up, even nanobot-enhanced as I was.
Maybe that would make me forget for a bit how badly I wanted to be elsewhere right now.
So badly that I could even smell her, my mind conjuring up the sound of her boots thudding against the deck.
“Stop!” she shouted, and my head jerked in her direction.
No, not a figment of my imagination after all.
She really was here. Then tension gripped my body because she’d walked boldly into a room full of deadly males, and not all of them had a mate.
I wasn’t even feeling all that rational and, mate or no mate, they all seemed like threats.
Lowering my head, for the first time, I truly forgot to pay attention to my surroundings. I only had eyes for her.
“What are you doing here, Ysa?” Asmoded demanded, just as Da’vi’s blow struck the side of my jaw and sent me reeling.
A few cheers went up, and one of them definitely came from Aramon, the bastard.
I straightened, ready to lunge forward and defend myself, perhaps even use my claws to rip into the Kertinal’s tough skin.
Ysa was coming through the crowd, and they were rapidly parting for her, all blue fury in a pint-sized package.
Asmoded was in her way, long tail coiled up to block her path.
She was unwinding her long braid from around her waist for some reason, and when she wagged the tip in his face, he moved.
Just like that, he moved aside. I froze then, revenge for Da’vi’s strike forgotten.
The sound of the crowd of mercenaries and gladiators training together faded into the background until it was just static in my ears.
She was beautiful, and she looked good. She wore a coverall she’d stripped down to the waist, the sleeves dangling loose.
Her belt held it up, weighed down with tools and gadgets.
She wore a black tank top that outlined her curves and revealed the pretty azure of her skin.
Skull and crossbones glinted silver at her ears, and her sturdy, thick-soled boots were buckled shut.
Sleek muscle sat beneath her pretty skin too, evidence of all the hard labor she put into keeping the Varakartoom running.
The kind of feminine muscle that was all strength and soft curves anyway, very enticing.
“Thatcher!” she said, stepping onto the mat, heedless of her boots.
She held the long rope of her blue braid in both hands, her eyes locked on my face.
The whole gym had fallen silent now, or perhaps I’d just lost the ability to hear anyone but her.
The wooden beads at the tip clacked together—not merrily, but firmly—like they were a warning.
“Ysa,” I responded, because it was like she’d summoned me, controlled me.
Like I couldn’t do anything right then but obey her every wish.
It was a fantasy I didn’t mind seeing to its end, so I inclined my head toward her and stepped closer.
Her eyes blazed, their blue growing fiercer, brighter.
Then she did the craziest thing—throwing the loop of that incredibly long braid over my head like I was a calf she intended to lasso.
I stood there stunned as the weight of that rope settled across the back of my neck, blinking in shock.
“Thatcher, I am claiming you as mine,” she said.
Her hands pulled on both sides of the braid, pulled on me, and I came forward like I was in a trance.
Did she just say what I thought she did?
Da’vi’s fist must have knocked me out, and now I was dreaming.
Dreaming one of those sexy, Ysa dreams that plagued me the moment I shut my eyes.
She kept talking, my fantasy Ysa appearing oblivious to my confusion.
“This is a Ulinial mating ritual. Nobody interfere.” Huh.
In my fantasies, she usually didn’t talk to the crowd of onlookers.
Usually, there was no crowd of onlookers.
As if they’d pierced a veil, shouts went up, catcalls, laughter.
The gladiators present did that thing they’d learned in the arena: stomp their feet as a way of applauding.
I felt the vibrations through my feet, and it began to sink in.
This wasn’t a dream; this was really happening.
Then my own crew joined in, and the noise sank beneath my skin, echoing in my brain.